Of Berries and Lies
by C.K.isback
Summary: Foxface wasn't stupid enough to eat those berries: the opposite, actually. The true story of the Girl with the Berries is much more curious: a web of lies, pain, and anger. But she knows, even if the Capitol doesn't, that the truth must always come out.
1. Part 1: The Fox

**Of Berries and Lies**

**Just a little two-shot for anyone who's bored….I sure am! **

My name was Sora.

I was only sixteen.

I had my whole life ahead of me - I had "promise."

But the Capitol never gave a damn, did they?

They did, however, care about their precious Hunger Games. I never really understood that, I guess. How could one enjoy watching innocent children - children who had already lived a life of squalor and hardship compared to their's - kill each other on the television? But I had never cared enough to give them a full psychiatric analysis. It's best to just realize and understand that they were not "human" as we applied the term, but something completely different. A whole new type of Mutt, spawned from years of self-indulgence and waste of mind. That was really all you had to understand, to get the Capitol. There wasn't much else - unlike so many from District 5, they wore their hearts on their sleeves, no matter how disgustingly idiotic their emotions and thoughts were. And I guess I just wanted to show _my_ feelings for once.

I don't know why I did it, okay? I had always been the smart one - I was bound to have a lapse in intelligence every once in a while. It was just human nature, something I had believed I had understood very well. Then again, I had thought I had understood a lot of things that turned out to be much, much bigger than me.

It was a simple way to die, I guess. Very anticlimactic. The Fox, as anyone in District 5 called me, deserved a death of much more grandeur. Perhaps a final showdown with the Careers? Or maybe a face off with that Fire Girl and her little Lover Boy?

It didn't matter how insane I was at that point, nor how hungry. Those things I could overcome easily. But eating something as obviously poisonous as Nightlock berries? Please. I was much too smart for that. I did not die simply because of a foolish lapse of judgment (Or the Mellark boy's, I should say).

The truth is much, much more interesting.

I had always been raised to hate the Capitol, right from my birth. The day I was born, Peacekeepers had tried to take me away - many of District 5's children were taken away, used as lab rats in experiments and tests.

But my father wouldn't have it, of course. Mother always told me he was very stubborn, a trait that I had received from him. He flat out refused to give me away. I was his first daughter in a family that already had four boys. He took on three Peacekeepers at once to keep them from invading our home.

As the story goes, my Mother had stowed me away during the fight, hiding me in a laundry basket and covering me up with my older brothers' dirty laundry. It was sheer luck that I had never been a crier. Instead, I rested peacefully in my nest of mud-stained shirts, sleeping through that whole day.

The Peacekeepers took care of my father quickly, knocking him out and then putting him in their Hoverplane. When they came into our house, though, my mother told me that I had died the day before, born premature and too weak to live. They searched the house, of course, but none thought to look in the basket of dirty laundry.

From that day forth, I had to pretend I was truly dead. I spent my days in the attic, poring over books and instructed not to make any noise. I spent the majority of my life in hiding, never seeing the outside world. It was a lonely way to live, but the safest.

Mother said that my Father was taken away that day instead, sent to the Capitol. We didn't know where he was - dead, most likely. She gave me a picture of him when I was seven. It was startling how much he looked like me - same crimson hair, same slanted eyes the color of caramel. For the first time, I felt a connection to him. I took the picture with me everywhere I went.

Three weeks after my tenth birthday, all seven Peacekeepers of District 5 died in a house fire. It was convenient, of course, that they all lived together. It was categorized as an accident, but anyone with the slightest of smarts in District 5 knew that it was intentional.

That was my big opportunity. That was the day I was finally set free.

With the new shipment of Peacekeepers came complete ignorance to my situation. I was finally free to walk in the sun and go to normal school. I could play with the other children and go to the market with my mother. It was like there was this whole life that I did not even know existed, didn't know I was missing out on, until that day. The other inhabitants of District 5 knew to hold their tongues - we had always looked out for each other, and I doubt that will ever change.

I grew into my own person - I became The Fox, the conniving, sneaky, highly-intelligent girl who all the boys secretly lusted after and the girls admired. I had finally started to live, and I loved it.

But I always knew it was too good to be true. At least, too good to be permanent.

When I was Reaped, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. Of course the girl who had spent the majority of her life in hiding would be sent to her death, just when she had started living. I decided I would do whatever it took to win the Games. I wanted to keep living, and everyone knew damn well that you couldn't stop The Fox when she put her mind to it.

I was thrown a curveball the first night in the Training Center. It was late, and I sat in my bed with a pencil in hand, jotting down every strategy I could think of. I had always been a planner, and this was no exception.

The door creaked open, and I knew it was the Avox, coming in to clean. She was around my age, with bright blonde hair and permanently tearful eyes. I had seen her earlier today, scrubbing my floor. When I had come in, her eyes had widened, and she ran away. You couldn't really blame her, though - I would be distrustful of people if they had cut my tongue out then forced me into slavery. Who wouldn't?

This time, though, she seemed bolder. Like she had a purpose. I ignored her, though, because she was an Avox and I was going to die and that was just the way things were. I kept to my plots, pencil scribbling furiously on the pad of paper.

It was only when I felt a light pressure on my arm that I looked up.

The girl was in front of me, shrinking timidly into the corner of the room as if she were a dog expecting to be punished. She was clutching something in her hands. Her hand shaking, she held it out to me.

"What is this?" I asked, though I certainly didn't expect a reply. My eyes flickered down to it.

It was a picture. But not just any regular picture - the man in it was ragged and disheveled, a number printed across his dirty jumpsuit. Written in red ink on top of the picture is: James Maxell, assigned to District 9.

But more importantly, the man was my father.

I clutched the picture tight, not sure whether to laugh or cry or scream. So I decided to just keep it all bottled up under a calm façade. When I looked up at the pretty blond-haired Avox, my face was a perfect mask of seriousness.

"How did you get this?"

The Avox seemed to forget that she couldn't talk for a moment, making a animalistic noise deep in her throat. She catches herself halfway through, then motions to my pencil and paper.

"You can write?" I asked, surprised. Usually it was only the smarter Districts - Five and Three, and a couple others, who could read and write. District 12 couldn't read a street sign to save their lives and Eleven probably didn't understand what a pencil was.

The Avox bit her lip, pressing the pencil down against the paper and spelling in small, wobbly letters: _I kin writ a litle._

I nodded. "Where did you get the picture?"

_I tuk it frum Peecekeeper's howse,_ she scribbled quickly, looking up at me with anxious eyes. _Cuz u luk lik James_.

I nodded, and for a second I fell prey to my emotion, letting a small sob shake through my body. "He's my father. He was taken before I could ever meet him."

Hesitantly, she reached out an arm and pressed it on my shoulder as she wrote. _I kno James. He is veree nis._

"Mother always told me he was," I whispered back, staring at the little picture. "What does the writing mean?"

_He is Avox fer 9 tribewts._

"Can I…can I see him?"

She didn't bother writing her answer - instead, she just shook her head, nervously furrowing her brow. _They shewt tribewts hoo visit othur rooms. Im soree._

And in that moment, my anger for the Capitol had intensified tenfold.

I knew they had done this. I bet they had enjoyed watching me - laughing at my misfortune and plotting more ways to break me.

And for a moment, I _wanted_ to break. I wanted to give in and cry and scream and become not The Fox - the sly, secretive girl - but just Sora, a weakling of a girl who had spent her entire life in an attic, the only memory of life outside from looking out a dirty window.

But they should know better - you can't break The Fox. You could only make her stronger.

I dismissed the Avox, but kept the picture close, sleeping with it next to me. Nightmares of my father with his tongue cut out haunted me that night, but I had to remind myself that it wasn't him or me or the Avox. It was the Capitol.

And for that, they would pay in blood.

**Hey guys. Not really sure how I like this, but whatever. The rest of it - and what really happened with Foxface and the berries - will be revealed in the next chapter. Review…you know you want to!**


	2. Part 2: Anger

**Helllooo! Thanks for reviewing last chapter. It was exciting to see a good response! Here's the next chapter. This is kinda a short look on Foxface's side of the Games too, so I had to add another part. Enjoy!**

It's intriguing, what anger can do to someone. The way it twists a person not into your friend, or sibling, or lover; It molds and shapes them into something barely comparable. Everything that you loved about that person - their laugh, or maybe their happy-go-lucky attitude, or simply just a smile. All of that is gone, leaving only the bad things, things so often just swept under the rug and best left ignored.

Fascinating, isn't it?

Of course, it's not like I had cared about the intricacy of anger at that moment after the Avox left my room - I was too angry. Looking back on it, it's a bit laughable. I was going in to the _Hunger Games_ - why should I care about a man who I had never even met or even getting shot by a guard? I was as good as dead, and a couple bullets from a security guard wouldn't have the changed the ending to my story.

That night, I let everything go. Everything that was bottled up inside me - things that had been shaken and agitated beyond capacity - finally just broke through the carefully sealed top and bubbled over. I broke every single thing in my room, including the bed, smashing off the entire headboard. By the time morning had risen, I was sitting in a pile of splintered wood and broken glass, face still red with child-like anger.

There was a light knock on the door, as soft as a woodpecker in the forests near Five, and the Avox swept in. She didn't seem surprised by the mess - only giving me a quick glance then bending down to start picking up the glass.

I got up, straightening my skirt and wiping the tears from my face. I gave a prim, "Thank you", as I briskly walked out the door. It may have been a mess I made, but I didn't want to face it. I had always been like that - sneaking and hiding and running from my problems, so much effort put in just to avoid them. Sometimes I think it might have been easier to just face them.

But that was against my nature. And the Fox, no matter how unnecessary it may have seemed at that moment, had a reputation to uphold.

The Sora inside me still struggled to get out - she wanted to hope. She thought maybe, _just maybe_, she would be able to see her father, and maybe even meet him. And that would've been nice - to just give up and believe. But I had more pressing problems to deal with.

During the Chariot Rides, I was dressed by a rather eccentric, though admittedly brilliant, stylist named Jero. He hated my face - he said I looked too harsh, too feral. He much preferred my District partner, a boy two years my elder with a soft baby face and buttery blonde hair. But I didn't care - at least, not that much. I think we both knew who would outlive the other in the Arena.

Despite his distaste, Jero still did know how to dress me well. My bright scarlet hair was twisted into an elegant bun, makeup colorful and dramatic, and I was covered in a long, strapless dress that hugged at my curves in a light white fabric at the top, then flared out at my sharp hips and showed almost every single color imaginable. As I moved, baby blues, bright reds, and acidic greens twisted and swirled with me.

That was not the most beautiful thing though - I was also surrounded by colored smoke that rose from the folds in the dress, almost like the fumes that rise from District 5's labs, shrouding me in mystery. As I looked in the mirror, I knew for that the first time in my life I looked truly beautiful. Despite all the times when I had told myself that intelligence reigned superior over beauty, it still felt quite nice to know - truly know - that I looked incredibly desirable.

Of course, I was not noticed for long. After Fire Girl and her faithful servant came out literally flaming, I knew my hope for sponsors was up. At least, for now. It didn't bother me that much, once again - it might have helped that I was usually hard to perturb, but it was also because I knew I could win on sheer, hard intellect.

And for that, I couldn't help but smile as a rather deadly-looking purple color swirled around my face.

Training was delightfully entertaining - and not because of the weapons or chance to prove myself. It was more the interacting, the fascinating social experiment being held right before my eyes. Left and right, wherever I looked, there was not only uncertainty and fear, but people desperately trying to win over friends, or put up a front, or just not to kill themselves while trying to handle weapons ten times bigger than them. It was incredibly interesting to watch twenty four different peoples' reactions to the knowledge that yes, they were probably going to die, and then seeing what they were doing about it.

For a moment, I thought it would be nice to be a Gamemaker - you'd get to see this stuff all the time, day after day. It would be one big mind game, something I loved.

But Gamemakers were sick, and despite my love for that certain science, I would never partake in something as barbaric as that. It was too far below me.

I went to all the stations, trying my hand at everything that came across, but not showing true skill at anything as to not attract attention. I found that I was very good with knives, and poisonous plants. I always had a knack for memorizing things, and the plants were no exception. I also became handy with the knots, though I certainly wasn't going to be making any elaborate snares during my time in the Arena.

During the session with the Gamemakers, I let a bit more of my potential show. I threw knives at the dummies, each time nailing them in the head. I climbed one of the false trees, suspending a simple trap made of rope that would ensnare the foot of anyone who stepped on it. Afterwards, right before my time was up, I ran as quickly as possible into the dark shadows of the room, undetected by any of the Gamemakers. Then, as quickly yet carefully as always, I sneaked in the and out of the darkness, ducking around the many stations, the ropes, the dummies, and then finally, going around the force field protecting them from the front- The Gamemakers table. They were cocky, those Gamemakers - they truly believed that Tributes would only attack from the front that I was 99% sure they didn't even think of shielding their backs.

I located the head Gamemaker quickly from my spot only a few steps away, gliding along the wall until I was behind his confused face. I raised a hand to check to see if the force field wrapped all the way around - it didn't, of course. How foolish those clever Gamemakers could be!

Then, slowly, I put my hands lightly around his neck. "Got you," I whispered, so quietly that only he could hear.

He immediately jumped out of his seat, twisting around to see me standing before him. It was satisfying, in a way. To know that I could've snapped his neck in that moment, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I was just that sly, that sneaky.

I gave a small smirk at the incredulous expressions of the Gamemakers - It was nice to know that The Fox was still in control.

"You can leave," one finally said, jerkily gesturing toward the door. He was obviously shaken.

I gave a sharp nod, slipping back out into the waiting room

My partner Babyface, as I'd named him, looked up from picking at his nails with curious eyes. I only gave a small, encouraging smile, because that's just the respectable thing to do when you know someone is most likely going to die in less than two days.

He returned it nervously, then walked in on unsteady legs as they called his name. For a moment, I felt sorry for him. It's one thing to believe that you can make it, then die immediately. It's another to know that you stand no chance, no matter how hard you try. You're just not cut out for it - Sorry, but that's just life. And Babyface was certainly one of those people.

However, I sat with him politely during the revealing of the Training Scores, trying my best to shake off the nervous hands of my mentor, Merris. It was only her third year, and her hope for a tribute who stood a chance was not yet completely diminished. I knew that she was just as nervous to see the scores as I was. Possibly more.

I held my breath as my face appeared on the screen, small smirk and pale skin hanging in a void of darkness for a moment before a number popped up below it.

Nine.

"Yes!" Merris yelled, jumping up and down and completely missing Babyface's dismal four. "Yes! Someone who stands a chance!"

Babyface shot me a look, and it took me a moment to realize that he was smiling. _Smiling._ And it dawned on me that he had reconciled with the fact that he was going to die - welcomed it even. And in that moment, I had more respect for him than I had ever had for any other person.

"What's your name?" I asked. To him it might have been seen as out of the blue, but to me it was important. Bothering to learn someone's name was bothering to want to get to know at least a little about them - I rarely ever learned names. No one was really that special to me, but Babyface had earned it.

"Mica," he murmured, lacing his pale hands together and looking at me with slight curiosity. "And you're…Sara, right?"

So he didn't know my name either. "Sora," I corrected. "But my friends call me Fox." I looked at him pointedly.

He gave a small smirk. "All right then, Fox," he stood up, walking back to his compartment, "I'll see you around."

I couldn't help but smile. He had more personality than I had imagined. "You to." A small twinge of regret rose in me as I watched him walk out the door.

Later that night, my mentor, Merris, tried to pin about a hundred different personalities while I repeatedly told her that being myself ought to do the trick. I wasn't a very modest girl - I knew that I had that certain "something" that attracted people toward me, and I knew that a silly Capitol audience wasn't any different. My mystique, maybe? The secrets that hid just behind my eyes? Whatever it was, I knew that it would do the trick much better than "sexy" or "bubbly" would. It was just common sense (Though I guess I shouldn't have expected Merris to know this, seeing as she had as much common sense as a horsefly.).

When she finally caught on to what I had been continuously repeating all day, she was very excited.

"Just wait," she said with as much false enthusiasm as possible. "You'll knock them all dead."

"The opposite, actually," I said dryly, standing up and letting myself out. Merris was a fool, and as dense as you could get- I didn't see how she won the Hunger Games, let alone managed to breath.

However, when I was at the studio the next day, staring up at Caesar Flickerman's incredibly horrid face while dressed in an acid green gown, I couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of worry. I wasn't naïve - I knew that sponsors were a great factor in your survival of the Games, and without any I would most likely die. What if the Careers got them all? What if Fire Girl and her wimpy little boy of a partner managed to steal the show yet again?

I couldn't bring myself to care all that too much. After all, the odds weren't in my favor to begin with.

Despite what I had imagined beforehand, the interviews were just as boring as they were watching them from a television screen at home. There were the same personalities that I had seen played over and over at least a dozen times - the sexy, seductive front. The pitiable and frightened façade. The ruthless killing machine. All of them paraded in front of me, a miriad of lies.

As the bell sounded, and Four Boy left his seat with a menacing crack of his muscles, I took a shallow breath and began to climb the steps of the stage. Everything was so bright - too bright. The lights blared down on the huge stage, making everything painfully colorful and turning Caesar Flickerman's face a sickly, over-powdered white. Everything looked unnatural - from the fake background behind us and the fake-looking audience that waited impatiently for me to begin speaking. My stomach squirmed with my nervousness, but I didn't let it show - that's not who the Fox was. She was cool, cunning, and confident - exactly what I had to portray.

I take my seat and give a quick once-over of my audience. They all look uninterested - they had gotten bored by District Four. However, they weren't really what mattered. The sponsors back home were the real importance, and I would do whatever it took to get them on my side.

"So," Caesar said, a polite and interested smile on his face. "Sora, isn't it? Pretty name."

I gave a small smirk, crossing my legs and brushing back my styled, silky red hair. "I prefer to be called Fox," I murmured, looking directly into the cameras behind him.

Caesar's face immediately split into a pleasantly surprised grin. "Well then, Fox. Let's talk scores. A nine! What exactly did you do to the Gamemakers to get them to give you such an impressive score!" The Capitol audience gave an uneasy twitter, but I just smirked and ignored them. Yes, there was certainly no room for Sora on the stage. For a moment, my eyes fell on Mica, and he gave an encouraging smile.

"Let's just say that they need to update their security measures," I said quietly, smiling coyly at Caesar and twirling my hair around my finger.

He gave another laugh. He wasn't that bad, really, considering other Capitolites. At least he had a sense of humor. "Well then," he chortled, "Anyone special at home that you want to say hi to?"

I shook my head, then hesitated before saying, "No…not really. But Dad, I just want you to know that I miss you and…I'm sorry." I prayed that the Avox of District Nine was watching the T.V. tonight.

Caesar gave a sympathetic smile. "Yes, I'm sure everyone misses their parents. Now, one more question before you have to leave…What do you think the tributes over here should watch out for?"

I smiled and stole a glance over at the Tributes. The Careers were watching intently, but the ones from other Districts just seemed too nervous to pay attention. For a moment, my eyes meet the ones of the infamous Katniss Everdeen. Her eyes reminded me of shards of dirty ice - cold and tough.

"Watch out," I said, directing it to Katniss and Katniss only. "It doesn't matter who you are, or how well you can handle weapons. I'll have taken you out before you can even raise your knife." Katniss gave a slight frown, eyes narrowing. A challenge.

Vaguely, I could hear the bell tingling in the background. My time was up.

I nodded curtly to Caesar and stood up, leaving the stage and audience more tense than they had been before.

**I really only wanted this to be two parts, but then Foxface started to click together for me and so many plots opened up! So the third and final part will be the Games and what really happened with the berries. I may also make this into a long fic that covers Foxface more extensively. I just love her! Don't forget to review. ;)**


	3. Part 3: Sora

**Thanks to all the way too generous reviews last chapter! And I give up promising what will be the last chapter - so I'll just tell you here's another one. I can tell you, though, that this will not be a completely full-length fic. More like a reasonably short story. Of course, there's a very good chance sometime in the future I might try to develop her story and personality more, but for now I hope you enjoyed this!**

"You're going to do fine!"

"The odds are in your favor, sweetie!"

"Chin up, you need to look fabulous on camera!"

Ugh. I closed my eyes, blocking out the annoying purple (Literally purple) face of my escort. I hated this. I was only three hours away from being sent into the Arena, and my escort wasn't making it any better. I hated how they treated it like it was something good -_ just a game, sweetie. You're going to be great, sweetie. Now excuse me while I go die my skin orange, sweetie. _

That's how all of them acted, and I think that's what drove me over the edge. Just because it's televised doesn't make it any less real - I'm a person: A living, breathing person. Just because my death will be seen through a camera lens and shown to the world does not make me any less.

I envied the Capitol, though - they have nothing to worry about. Their biggest troubles in life are choosing what outfit to wear and bad plastic surgery. The Districts' problems were as big as the sun - problems like poverty and illness, things these shallow Capitol escorts will never understand.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be manhandled by my escort and Prep Team into the hoverplane that will lead me to my death. Today was the big day, and everything needed to be perfect.

In a short plane ride full of headaches and nausea about my impending doom, I am corralled by Jero and Attendants into a small room - the lovely little Stockyard that I had never dreamed I would be seeing in real life.

Jero stood from afar, head cocked to the side and hand on his hips in an overly-dramatic contemplation. Then he starts on me - fixed my hair into my simple two braids that run down either side of my shoulders and light makeup to at least make me look fairly pretty for my impending doom.

With the final sweep of a make-up brush, I am deemed "As perfect as possible," by Jero, who led me to another room to show me the outfit for the Games. It was simple - an army green tank and short tan pants, a light fleece jacket laid on top. Immediately my mind came up with the Arena - fairly warm in the daytime, but cold at nights. It led me to think of forests - but I hadn't been sure, of course. But it was a fairly strong hunch.

"Not so special," Jero mused. "But it'll show off your curves."

I couldn't help but give an unladylike snort. As if I had really cared about that.

Jero gave me a piercing look, and I looked right back. I raised an eyebrow.

Then he slapped me - hard and stinging right against my cheek.

"Don't act like that," he whispered. I gave him a blank stare of surprise until I realized he was crying - silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Dramatic sobbing wasn't Jero's style.

"I'm…I'm sorry," I whispered back. For a moment, my heart felt a bit of pain. I would miss Jero.

With a small, constricted sob, he pulled me close to him in a brief, tight hug. "If you die, I'll kill you," he said, pulling back to look at me. "So don't be stupid."

I gave him a weak, half-smile. "You have nothing to worry about. Stupid is not in my repertoire." Of course, I was wrong about that - my stupidity killed me. But I didn't know that in that moment - he didn't either.

He gave me a watery smile. "Good girl. Now go get 'em." After another small hug, he left with an ominous click of the door.

I nodded shakily to myself, then sat down on the couch in the outfit, still feeling weird about my stylists sudden display of affection. Maybe he didn't hate me after all, that first day - just a bit of tough love for the resident Ice Queen.

I was shrugging on the jacket when I felt the tears start to pour from my eyes. I had cried more that week than I had my entire life, and I admit that it made me feel week. The Fox would have never done such a thing. But I had to give up and admit it - I was no longer The Fox. She was not the girl whose name had been drawn from the Reaping Ball - that was Sora. Weak, sniveling, dreaming Sora.

It felt weird to be that girl again - the Girl from the Attic. It wasn't necessarily bad, just uncomfortable. Like trying to wear clothes that I had outgrew long ago.

But I told myself I could still fit into her, I just had to let everything go. It would be as easy as breathing.

Because whether I liked it or not, she was me.

Only minutes before the Games started, an attendant took me by the arm, shoving me onto the metal plate and looking at me emotionlessly as the glass tube slowly moved down around me. I stared back just as blankly, and I barely register the dull click of the glass hitting metal. Sealing my fate. The attendant gave me one last look, and a shake of his head as he walked away. Pity showed in his eyes.

There was no escort or mentor to help me now - it's just me. Just Sora. Maybe a little Fox. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming as the small glass tube propelled me toward the Arena. I was shot into the sunlight, left blinded and blinking as new sounds and sights and smells filled my senses. It was all just too much, and I knew I couldn't survive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

**Sorry for the shortness. I just got bored and decided to write a small chapter to show a weaker - yet accepting - side of Fox. Hope you enjoyed! And if you did, review! **


	4. Part 4: Mica

**Sorry for lateness. Just a lot on my plate, but summer is here! WOOHOO!**

I ran. I didn't stop, didn't look back, and I most certainly didn't look forward. I sprinted with all my might like a fox would from a hunter, occasionally stooping down and picking up whatever has overflowed from the Cornucopia and was in my direct path. My limbs were already on fire. Every breath sent pain through my body.

In front of me, the horror movie started.

The boy from Eight scrambled out in front of me, desperately clamoring through the sea of supplies. I saw what he has his eyes on - a shiny, silver set of throwing knives. For a moment, a shock of fear runs through me as I think of his training score - a nine. He had loved those sharp little objects, and most certainly wasn't a bad shot.

But before his fingers even grasped around one of the knives' hilt, an arrow comes whizzing out of nowhere, hitting him right in his left eye. He gave an audible shriek - so high and loud that it sounded animalistic. It turned quickly into a keening wail as I whipped past him, another arrow hitting the front of his shirt. I saw blood blossom across the fabric as he fell to the floor.

There was a flash of blonde hair and a smile. Glimmer took her arrows quickly out of her kill.

My legs were pumping faster than I would've thought possible, faster then I've ever gone. Pure adrenaline pumped through my veins, growing stronger with each step I take. My breathing was fast and shallow. The world around me became a blur of color, the only sounds those of cannon shots and screams. I was living in a nightmare, and most certainly not one I could wake up from.

I run for a very long time - so long that I stopped counting the minutes and just let everything go. I was in dense forest, trees and bushes racing past me. Lots of coverage - exactly what I wanted. But my blind terror overrode any rational thoughts I had about hiding.

I stopped running when my legs give out from under me, sending me toppling headfirst into a mass of brambles and leaves. I barely noticed the cuts all over me. I was safe. That was all that matters.

My breathing slowed, and I managed to climb up into a tree, curling up in a tall branch. For a moment, I was reminded of home - my six year old self gripping onto the beams that decorated the roof of the attic, keeping my balance as I carefully inched above the room, waiting for my mother to come in and bring me lunch so I could scare her.

It always worked - she would scream and drop the lunch tray and immediately after order me to climb down. Afterwards, being so happy that her "precious little baby" hadn't fallen and hurt herself, she would wrap me in her arms and read me one of the three books that she had managed to get me over the years. It always had made me feel safe - loved. Like the girl in the attic wasn't entirely forgotten, like Sora still existed.

I never did tell her that I was only doing it so she would pay attention to me for a little while longer.

No. No thinking about home. No family. No attic. Only Fox. Only survival.

"Fox? Sora?"

I almost lost my balance, whipping around to see who it was. My heart started to race in terror, categorizing who it could be. Definitely male. Career? Of so, I was dead - dead on the first day. My stomach curled over in something I rarely experienced - fear.

Cautiously, I lowered my head down through the branches, peering at the ground.

It was Mica. I let out a quick breath of relief.

But then I noticed the red - all over his hands, soaking his shirt, splattered across his face. Something shiny and silver was stuck through his back. Absolute terror shown in his eyes.

"F-Fox?" he muttered once more, coughing. He held his hands up to smother it - they came back red.

"Mica," I whispered, hands involuntarily tightening on my branch.

In a split second decision, I swung down.

"Come here," I said quietly, helping him behind the tree. He staggered and swayed, giving another cough. This time, the blood landed on my arm. It looked like tiny red freckles.

I laid him down at the base of the tree, taking care not to jostle the giant knife protruding from his back. He looked at me with half-dead eyes, giving a small smile.

"I'm a goner, aren't I?" he said wryly, delicately brushing a shaking hand against the hilt of the knife.

I tried to tell him "No". To convince him that he'll be all right - that all he needs is a bandage and a good night's rest. But I couldn't. You can't lie to the dying.

"An hour or so," I whispered instead. "Possibly sooner."

He touched the knife again. "Well, that sucks."

I bit back a sob.

We were quiet - counting down the minutes. The only sounds in the forest were that of the mockinjays, echoing the cannon blasts and screams of tributes. I hear one, high in a tree above us, whisper a chirp, voice just as raspy and pain-filled as mine.

"Who did it?" I finally asked.

"Clove," he said matter-of-factly, not looking very angry as he spoke her name. I would've been furious. "But I had it coming for me - I wasn't fast enough, and she already had the knives."

"I'll kill her for you." I marveled at how simply the words came out - I would've thought that I'd be more hesitant at saying them. I wasn't a violent person. Why should I have been? It was just as easy to evade conflict, and I was good at it. Fighting with fists is more damaging then fighting with your mind. At least, it usually is.

Mica looked at me for a moment, blue eyes blinking sadly. "No, you won't," he said. "I don't want that on your conscience. I care about you, Fox. You can win this - win this without murder."

I smiled. "How can I win a game that's only rule is to kill?"

He gave a wobbly grin. "You'll do it somehow." Another cough, this time much more wet. Blood drips from between his fingers, making soft pitter-patters as it hits the leaf-strewn floor. "Y-you were always good at things like that. That's why I always admired you."

"You did?" I asked. I had never really thought about Mica before the Games - he had just been some boy a year older than me who really had nothing to do with me. Not many people had anything to do with me, so I wrote them off. It had never occured to me that they might admire me - want to get to know me.

For a moment, I felt shame. It was unsettling to realize how self-centered I had been, and hadn't even realized it.

Mica seemed to notice. "You might not have seen it Fox, but others did. You sorta had this…thing about you. I don't really know what to call it. A spark, I guess. You had confidence." He gave me a small smile. "Whenever I saw you, I always thought 'Wow, look at that girl. What I wouldn't give to be like her.'"

I started crying. I'm not really sure why, and it certainly wasn't the best time, but I did. I tried to keep the sobs quiet, but tears rolled freely down my cheeks.

"I wish I had known you better, Mica," I said. My hand reached out and wrapped around his. "You're a really cool guy."

He blinked sleepily. "And you're a really cool girl." His voice turned into a drowsy mumble. "Just…don't lose yourself, okay? Stay true to who you are." A smile slowly stretched across his face. "That sneaky little kid that everyone loves. That I love."

Tears dripped down the collar of his shirt as I reached down and stroked his hair. It was soft, even with all the dirt and grease it had collected. I buried my face in it. My lips touched blood.

I didn't love him. I didn't even really know him. But at that moment, that didn't matter.

"Fox…"

I closed my eyes. I could only hear his raspy breath. "Yes?" I whispered.

There was no response.

**Review? There should only be one or two more chapters, so come tell me what you think before that!**


End file.
